


From the Mouths of Bots

by pucktheplayer



Category: Almost Human
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pucktheplayer/pseuds/pucktheplayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Richard Paul's MX-43 has been a dedicated partner in police work for precisely 729 days, 23 hours, and 19 minutes.  In that time, he has become as close to Paul as a bot of his make can be, but no one, including the MX himself, believed that it was any more than that.  Not until a silly dare from Detective John Kennex that pits bot against bot reveals that the MX is much more than just logic and protocols.  He may, in fact, be almost human.  John/Dorian, Paul/MX-43 slash.  Alternating POV between MX-43 and Dorian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Give or Take

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I had to write some MX-43 slash. Yes, I know he ain't got no junk, but his babyface is so adorable... I can't help myself! This will be told in the POVs of two VERY different kind of bots, the MX-43 and Dorian. What can I say, I wanna get into their heads!

_{thermal.sensors=active_  
 _Connect=DeltaSquad_  
 _secureaccess=granted;_  
 _run_scan}_

My Superiors swarmed the room, flooding my thermal sensors with their strange, pulsing heat. Though my eyes remained locked in forward position, my peripheral camera focused in on Superior 1, automatically scanning his vitals. He was seated at Home Desk, had been seated at Home Desk for ninety-seven minutes now, swiping idly through electronic case files.  All of them Label: Inactive.  He moved sluggishly, without purpose, his organic neural processors obviously focused elsewhere, on something less tangible, perhaps.

MainLogic said, run_program=offer_to: complete.task. After all, what has taken Superior 1 over ninety-seven minutes would take me no more than…

_{access=database_  
 _SecureID=MX43.77745.b.997_  
 _access=granted_  
 _open_files[scan]_  
 _Action=complete}_

…2.36 seconds. 

 

This was a waste of Superior's time; I was much better suited to the task.  MainLogic was right about that--I should offer to take on this project.  But I didn't.  Instead I stood, square and silent, my eyes trained on nothing, motionlessly guarding Superior. Guarding him as I had, day after day after day.   For seven-hundred and twenty-nine days, twenty-three hours, and nineteen minutes, to be exact.  Or, as Superior would say, “almost two years.”

His lack of precision would be somewhat endearing if I was capable of such emotions. As it was, it didn’t matter whether or not Superior was precise—that was my purpose. It was why I existed.  Were he more precise, he might not even need me at all.

MainLogic was nagging at me again, but I ignored it once more. In the last seven-hundred and twenty-nine days I had carried out over 8,748,000 either/or/and/if scenarios—an average of 12,000 high level logic puzzles a day—and it had been more than enough practice to know that listening to MainLogic was not always in a bot’s best interest. At times it had even led to a gunshot to the face, particularly if Superior Kennex, First Name John, ID 3497 happened to be involved.

Thanks to MainLogic coupled with Superior Kennex's temper, my hard memory and core processor had resided in nine different bodies over the past one million, fifty one thousand, two hundred minutes. Give or take thirty-nine minutes or so.

I must have been thinking a little too loudly, because the MX standing at attention directly across the room from me shifted its gaze toward me, a little blinking message of disapproval appearing in my screen of vision. An MX does not “give or take.” An MX is precise.

I should never have hacked that worthless DRN during his charge. All those colloquialisms were impossible to delete.

_{syth.adrenaline=rise[2levels]_  
 _Focus=narrow+target=img[DNR.png]_  
 _pupil.dilation=activate}_

If an MX were capable of hate, I was fairly certain I would hate Dorian. “Dorian.” What kind of Superior Officer names their synthetic? One bot is as capable as any other—why make such an effort to distinguish one from another? My Superior 1 didn't waste time on such things.  He was a true cop. Kennex was nothing more than an unstable fool with a disturbing attachment to his inferior bot.   Superior 1 deserved his title. Superior 1 was efficient, like me.

Well, usually. Today he seemed to be taking a vacation. We had three open cases to investigate. How long did he plan to study these outdated, closed cases?

_{MainLogic=activate_  
 _speech+[protocol.reminder]_  
 _protocol.reminder=“Perhaps you have scanned the closed cases long enough, Sir? Protocol 347 B states that closed cases over one year old are to be sealed. Your inspection is in violation of Protocol 347 B.”}_

I started to open my mouth, then closed it again.

_{MainLogic=override_  
 _Speech=shut_down}_

It was not my place to tell Superior what he should be doing. That was why he was programmed as my Superior. I would stand here in silence as long as it pleased him. There were no consequences for the violation of Protocol 347 B, anyway.

The bottom corner of my vision screen began to flash as the door across the room swung open. I turned toward it, a rapid pulse running through my system as I stared across the tops of the cubicles at the very bot I would despise were an MX capable of such feelings.

The DRN marched across the room—edit that. He did not march—soldiers like me marched. DRN *slunk*, like the sexbot that his strangely designed synthetic body resembled. DRN slunk across the room at his Superior’s side, not that the DRN would ever acknowledge anyone—man or synthetic—to be superior to him, with his ridiculous imitation of a soul, and even more ridiculous haircut.

_{activate=netsearch_  
 _query=[soul, animus, inner self, consciousness]_  
 _results=3,567,266 sites_  
 _activate.hackprotocol7_  
 _Result=DELETE_  
 _Activate=netsearch_  
 _Query=[soul, animus, inner self, consciousness]_  
 _result=0 sites}_

It wasn’t quite as satisfying as disabling the DRN forever would be, but it was all I could do without risking my own semblance of a consciousness, as small as it might be. Unlike DRN, my Superior 1 would not shoot for me. Drawing one’s firearms for the sole purpose of defending a piece of technology was illogical, and my Superior was not an illogical man.

MX was a bot, that’s all that it was, and it knew that. It had one purpose and one purpose only: to serve and protect Superior and city. It was a lesson “Dorian” could afford to learn.

Great. Kennex and the DRN were coming my way.

_{action=stabilize.processing_  
 _stabilize.function[cyberheart, core processor, all synthetic systems]_  
 __ERROR_program failure[systems not stabilized]_  
 _MainLogic=override_  
 _activate=synthetic.pulse[+10]_  
 _activate=survival.instincts[+20]}_

My face twitched as Kennex brushed past me, the only sign of the cataclysmic program failure occurring within. MX do not feel, so why did my synthetic heart beat so hard whenever Kennex came near me? Why did my survival systems go on full alert and my core processor start whirring as though I was in the midst of battle?

_{focus=narrow[target=gun]_  
 _license: Kennex, John}_

I forced my gaze to zoom back out, silently berating my systems. It was only a firearm. I had one in my own hands. I focused my attention on the DRN, hoping its unforgivable disdain for the protocol I existed to carry out would be enough to distract my processor and shut down survival mode. Somehow I didn’t think erupting into action in the middle of the office because Superior Kennex accidentally brushed me with his arm would please Superior 1.

As always, the DRN was ignoring half a dozen protocols, but even MainLogic agreed that pointing this out was futile. The DRN was beyond reproach—Kennex’s gun made certain of that. So I stood my ground, staring straight ahead as I tried to pretend I didn’t notice the disgusted way this renegade Superior looked at me. Unfortunately, an MX notices everything.

If an MX were capable of emotion, I might have felt humiliated. Luckily, we are not capable of emotion.

“So Paul, what’s up, man?” Kennex said in an overly casual way. “You’re looking short today.”

_{status=offense_mode_  
 _activate_  
 _status=override_  
 _activate.MainLogic_  
 _Kennex, John=Superior Officer[address as such]}_

“I am afraid Detective Paul is busy now, Sir,” I said in my usual monotone as I tried to ignore the strange pulsing in my circuits. Last time I dared to question Superior Kennex, he blew my head off. If an MX were capable of pain, my most painful moments would surely have been around this man. “If you would like to come back later when he is finished, I am certain he will be happy to communicate with you then.”

My vision zoomed in on Kennex’s narrowed eyes as his gaze swung over toward me. A little warning popped up. Danger: Anger Aroused.

“I’m sorry, was I speaking to you, toaster?” Kennex said, scowling in a way that sent a shock down my spinal circuits. Thankfully his hand wasn’t at his holster. Not yet, anyway. “When I want my bagel warmed, I’ll tell you to open your mouth and say ‘aaaaah.’ Until then, how ‘bout you shut your lid?”

“John,” the DRN said in a chastising voice, as though he was speaking to a naughty child. Its willingness to defy its own Superior 1 when no protocols were being breached both astounded and disgusted me. “It was being polite. For an MX, anyway.”

Kennex snorted. “That piece of junk isn’t capable of being ‘polite.’ It’s just a metal dog on two legs. It can growl, bite, bark, scratch, and roll over. That’s it.”

Even I was able to process that this was not a compliment.

_{status=offense_mode_  
 _activate_  
 _status=override_  
 _activate.MainLogic_  
 _Kennex, John=Superior Officer[address as such]}_

“I understand your distaste of synthetics, Detective Kennex, however, I am top of the line in synthetic police protection. The MX is superior to your DRN in—“ I cut off abruptly as my vision sensors began to blink madly, everything in sight turning red… just as it had before Kennex had pulled the trigger and blasted me to pieces a few weeks ago. I shut my mouth and took a step back, pointedly shifting my gaze off toward nothing as I resumed my place standing at attention before my Superior’s Home Desk.

Kennex let out a chuckle. “I guess it heard what happened to the last toaster who mouthed off to me,” he said, directing the comment toward the DRN.

“It didn’t hear it, John,” Dorian said in a soft voice, frowning a little. “It’s the same bot. It’s always the same bot.”

Kennex cocked his head, looking confused. “What do you mean, it’s the same bot? I blew its head off.”

“It’s the same mind,” Dorian said with a shrug. “Just a different body. The memories are stored in the central processing unit, so all the droids can access them. When one body is destroyed, the mind can transfer to a new one.”

“Wow,” Kennex said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s kind of creepy.” He smirked, looking back over at me. “I guess that explains why every bot Paul gets pisses the hell out of me.”

“I’ll have you know that this MX has saved my life a dozen times over the past two years,” my Superior said, and I glanced over without thinking, surprised. “I get it—you don’t like synthetics. You think they’re mindless junk. Well you know what? I don’t care what the techies say, the MX may be logic based, but they’re capable of learning, of evolving. That’s what logic *is.* Comparing things, making decisions, then analyzing the data and learning from what it tells you. Isn’t that right, MX?”

“That is correct, sir,” I said immediately, though I wasn’t entirely sure whether or not it was the right answer. One of the very first puzzles of the human psyche I had ever decoded was the necessity of an affirmative response when it came to rhetorical questions, whether you believed the answer or not. Silence in such circumstances tended to make the situation unstable, while negation brought anger and could lead to a temporary termination of the partnership. Neither of those things were beneficial to the cause of protecting and serving, an MX’s outstanding purpose. As such, affirmation was the only logical response.

Besides, it pleased Superior, and that in itself would fall under the heading of “service,” would it not?

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Kennex said flatly. “I’ve seen how the MXs work. Had one pretty much leave me in the damn field to die because staying ‘wasn’t logical.’ Say what you want, they may not be mindless, but they are junk. Logic isn’t enough. You have to have feelings, otherwise you’re just the computerized version of a sociopath.”

It was Superior 1’s turn to scowl now, which suggested that Kennex’s words had offended him in some way. I wasn’t certain how—everything he had spoken was the truth. Kennex *had* basically been abandoned by an MX after making a highly illogical and deadly decision, and an MX was not capable of feeling or empathy which was, technically, the definition of a sociopath.

“I don’t talk about your partner that way, Kennex,” Superior said in a cool voice, and my scanners began to blink a warning that his pulse was rapidly rising. Superior was growing angry—this was not good. I doubted Kennex would go so far as to blow my Superior’s head off, but mine might very well be considered “fair game,” as the DRN’s colloquial databank would say.

“That’s because my bot has some semblance of a personality. All yours has is a creepy glare and a mound of nothing where his penis should be.”

“There is no logical reason for me to posses a penis, Detective Kennex,” I said, hoping to redirect some of the tension. “I do not ingest liquids that need to be expelled, and I was not created for the purpose of fornication. What use would I have for such an appendage?”

“You know what, MX, why don’t you let me handle this?” Superior 1 said, with what my scanners identified as a mildly embarrassed face.

“Of course, Detective Paul,” I said as I took another pointed step back. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, Superior wanted to handle, but then it wasn’t my place to disobey a direct order. I was a dedicated soldier, unlike Kennex’s precious “Dorian.”

“My MX may not have some fancy schmancy, granola crunching, hippie skippy ‘soul,’ but it’s more than some damn vacuum cleaner,” Superior 1 said in a low voice, his pulse rising again. “It’s learned, it’s grown, it’s evolved, just like everybody else. It’s had its good days and its bad days, just like you and me and Crazy Bot over there. So how about you quit messing with my fucking partner and mind your own damn business?”

I snuck a glance at Superior, an unfamiliar sensation coming over me.

_{neuroscanners=active_  
 _analysis=process_undefined  
sensation=unknown}_

My brow furrowed slightly. That was odd.

Dorian was looking at me strangely, and I quickly returned to my normal military stare.

“You know what, Richard?” DRN said in its irritatingly gentle voice, “You’re right. John and I are sorry for speaking ill of your partner. We had no right.” He held out a tablet, smiling at my Superior. “Here are the files on the Harris case you requested. We’ll be seeing you.” The DRN pointedly grabbed Kennex’s arm them, starting to guide him away. Apparently even Dorian couldn’t totally override his Superior, however, because Kennex jerked away.

“Hold on,” he said, staring at Superior 1.  My sensors zoom in.  Kennex’s pupils were slightly dilated, his breathing quick.  He was angry.  Angry at Superior.  
  
Files flashed before my eyes, report after report.  Psychiatric Eval, Diagnosis: Unstable.  Anger Management Therapy: Non-Compliant.  Traffic Violations: 15, Offensive Driving.  Secondary Psych Eval: Unstable.  Suggested Return to Duty: Never.  
  
 _{Instigate[defensivemode]_  
 _identify{enemy}_  
 _evalstatus[threat >=5]_  
 _action=defend(if)regul=procedure99.63_  
 __or__  
 _action=attackdefend(if)regul=procedure_  
 __or__  
 _action=apprehend(if)[threat <=4]=procedure}_  
  
All systems ready.  I silently prepped myself to throw this body in front of Superior should Kennex make any sort of attack.  
  
“You say your tin man’s got a heart?  I say, put your money where your mouth is.  Or, better yet, your graveyard shift.  Tonight, the four of us.  I know a great noodle place—“  
  
“John, the MX and I don’t eat,” DNR interrupted in a tone that made it clear they’d had this discussion before.  
  
“—hell, they’re the best noodles in town," Kennex continued without pause.  "We’ll have some chow, hit the bars, and see whose partner can handle it and whose bot freaks out and performs an emergency off duty arrest in the middle of the dance floor.  I win, you do my graveyard sweeps for a month, and vice versa.”  
  
I blinked, something I very rarely do, but Kennex’s words had me confused.  Had he just extended a dinner invitation to my Superior and I?  My logic centers did not cover this situation, and the central memory banks weren’t going to help.  I was pretty sure that I was the first MX to ever be invited out to dinner.  
  
“You know what?” Superior said in a haughty voice, though the sweat dripping down the back of his neck indicated he was not as sure of himself as he sounded.  “Let’s do it.  A month of graveyard sweeps says there are no arrests on the dance floor.”  
  
“Or awkward physical confrontations, or incessant quoting of protocol, or guns pointed at sixteen year old girls with fake IDs,” Kennex added, raising his brow in challenge.  
  
“It is illegal to possess identification not authorized by the state,” I said helpfully, then frowned slightly as Superior shot me a glare.  The DRN hid his laughter behind a hand.  
  
If an MX were capable of hatred, I would *absolutely* hate that bot.  
  
“You’re on,” Superior 1 said, reaching out and punching me in the arm in what I assumed was meant to be a congenial way.  After all, Superior 1 was capable of much more efficient forms of assault, were that his intention.  “Seven o’clock good for you?”  
  
“We’ll see you then,” Kennex replied, letting out a laugh as he turned and began to walk away, reaching out and patting the shoulder of the amused looking DRN beside him.  “This is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.”  
  
 _{search.query=“fish in a barrel”[colloquialismbank.register=DRN]_  
 _Return=negative, no colloquialism found}_  
  
Hm.  
  
Superior 1 dropped back down into his seat with a sigh, dabbing at the sweat gathered on his neck with a hanky as he stared up at me, looking rather despondent.  “For God’s sake, don’t mess this up for me, MX,” he said, sounding a bit distressed.  “I really hate the graveyard shift.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Detective,” I replied, doing my best to imitate Dorian’s soothing voice.  From the look Superior shot me, I was pretty certain I’d failed.  “I am perfectly capable of shooting any size of fish in any sort of container.”  
  
Superior stared up at me for a long moment then let out a groan, his head thunking to the table.  “Oh man, I am so screwed.”  


 

TBC...

 


	2. Broken Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I was sick today, hence all the writing. It's what happens when you get stuck in bed! Next update probably won't be until next weekend, as my job (unfortunately) comes first! Hope you enjoy this... I tried to capture Dorian's voice, though I am not sure how well I succeeded.

“Oh man, this is going to be fantastic,” John said as he dropped down onto his usual stool at the counter.  “Freaking *fantastic.*  Can you believe Paul agreed to this?  What an idiot.  The graveyard shift is totally his.”  
  
I let out a soft sigh as I settled down on the stool next to John, fingers tugging lightly at my collar.  I automatically scanned the room, cataloguing all the civilians, then did it once more for good measure.  Who said androids don’t have nervous habits?    
  
“I still think this is a bad idea, John.  I’m not fond of the MX’s, either, but that’s no excuse to purposely try and make a fool of them.”  
  
John’s pulse increased from 65 beats a minute to almost 80 at the words, and red began to spread across the back of his neck.  Wonderful.  I’d upset him again.  What I wouldn’t give to be able to program a little maturity into my partner sometimes.  Perhaps I ought to talk to Rudy. We could slip a chip into his noodles.  
  
“Please tell me you are not defending them,” John said, fingers digging into the edge of the counter as he glared at me.  “They’re walking, talking trash cans.”  
  
The comparison seemed even less apt than his usual “toaster” comments, but I let it slide.  All of John’s comparisons of androids to household appliances were somewhat lacking in thought and general common sense, though I supposed he got points for creativity.  
  
 “I’m not defending anyone,” I said in my most calming voice, the one my programming officially reserved for old ladies crossing the street and crying babies.  “I’m simply stating that it never hurts to be the bigger man.”    
  
The moment the words escaped my speakers, I knew it was the wrong thing to say, and I didn’t need to measure any vitals to figure it out.  The look on John’s face was more than enough.  
  
His shoulders tightened, whole body tensing, lips curling up in the way they always do before he says something he’ll later regret.  “Big words coming from someone who isn’t a man at all.”  
  
A few months ago the jab might have sent my processors into a tizzy, but by now I knew that John liked and appreciated me for the cop I was.  He just wasn’t very good at expressing, well, much of anything.  Who was I to hold words against someone who wasn’t even capable of running a manners and social conventions update?  Besides, it was hard to stay angry with a grown man who pouted like a baby.  
  
“Oh, hello, John!” Li the Noodle Man said in a cheery voice as he appeared at the counter, waving his hands around dramatically.  A warning began to flash in my vision, the words ‘Yung, Li: Illegal Immigrant’ springing up as I automatically zoomed in on his retinal signature. “And Dorian!  Welcome, welcome!”  
  
I overrode the autoscan for what had to be the fiftieth time this month—John really liked this place—and gave the man a big smile.  “Arigatou.”  Immigration wasn’t our department.  Besides, what Captain Maldonado didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.    
  
“You have the usual, yes?” Noodles questioned, clapping his hands together excitedly as if seeing us was the best thing that had happened to him in years.  If there was one thing you could say about the Japanese, they sure knew how to treat a customer.  It was kind of nice, having someone so excited to see you, even if it was just for the sake of a few yen.  
  
“Yeah,” John began, “The usu—“  
  
“Actually, we’re waiting for someone,” I interrupted, ignoring the surge of annoyance rising from my partner.  “In fact, if you don’t mind, we should probably get a table.  Party of four?”  
  
“Oooooh,” Noodles said, his eyes lighting up and his big smile growing even bigger.  “Party of foooour!  This gooood!  Very goooood!  You have some *special someones* coming?”  He gave us an exaggerated wink, and I simultaneously hid a laugh and uploaded the look on John’s face to my permanent memory bank.  Priceless.  Absolutely priceless.  
  
“What?  No!” John said, looking like someone had just told him he had to eat a plate full of cat brains with a side of urine sauce.  “God, no.”  He shuddered.  “Man, that is an image I didn’t need.  Me and Paul.  Or worse yet, you and Ken doll.  Ugh.”  
  
I laughed, shaking my head in amusement.  “It’s just some coworkers of ours, Li.”  I raised an eyebrow.  “Come on John, you know that you think Ken doll’s kind of hot.”  I blinked my eyelashes and feigned a sigh.  “Those piercing blue eyes… Oh, and those hard as steel—for real—pectoral muscles…. Don’t you just *love* it, Detective Kennex?”  
  
“No,” John said flatly.  “Ab-so-lut-ely not.  Not at all.  Not one little bit.  Not even a fucking smidge.”  He shuddered.  “Now please stop that.  You’re disturbing me.”  
  
“Oh?” I said, feigning surprise.  “Well, do you like this one better?”  I quickly accessed my voice banks, adjusting my tone to something a little more… feminine.  “Because I have to say, those biceps belong to a real hottie,” Captain Maldanado’s voice stated matter of factly.  John began to choke on nothing.  “Good young stock like that will always have a place in my stable—“  
  
“If you do not shut up, I am going to rip your processor right out of your body,” John said in a flat voice.  “Thank you so much, Dorian, for lending material to my nightmares for the next thirty years.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” I said in a cheerful voice—my own voice this time—as I flashed him a bright smile.  “Very, very welcome.”  I looked back over at Noodles.  “Any specific table you want us at, Li?”  
  
“No, no, please,” the man said, gesturing broadly, “sit whatever table you like!”  
  
“Or we could just stay at the bar,” John said, already reverting to pouty mode.  
  
“Come on, John,” I said as I stood, gesturing for my partner to follow.  “They’ll be here soon.”  
  
“And they can eat at the bar with us,” John shot back, obviously ready to fight for his cherished seat.  My eyes narrowed, zooming in on his.  
  
“Now, John, you were the one who invited them out,” I said in my best chiding voice. “You need to be a good host.”  
  
“Dear God.” John shook his head. “How in the world did they manage to upload my Nana’s personality directly to your databanks?”  
  
“John,” I said, adding a touch of warning to my tone.  “Come on, now.”  
  
“Fine,” he grumbled, standing up with a sigh.  “Let’s get a table.”  
  
“There’s a good boy,” I replied, hiding a smirk as my partner glared at me.  
  
“I hate you.  You know that, right?”  
  
“Aw, love you too, man.”  I quickly scanned the room, throwing a grid across it and doing a quick analysis of which table would offer the most privacy.  If it came down to gunfire and splattered circuitry, I wanted to be as far from any civilians as possible.  
  
Deciding the the table in the far corner would offer the most cover for innocent bystanders should John decide to blow Emmett’s head off again, I headed that way, ignoring the sour look on my partner’s face as he trailed after me.  
  
We settled down next to each other at the table, and I resisted the urge to project the look on John’s face when Li implied this was a double date onto the wall for all the world to see.  Better to save that one for a very special occasion.  Like his birthday.  Or Christmas.  Or the next time he made me sit in a sweltering hot car while he raided the hot dog stand.  
  
A sensor in the edge of my vision began to pulse, the MX-43 symbol along with Emmet’s assigned number blinking to life.  “They’re here,” I said, glancing toward the door.  
  
“Great,” John said morosely, like a fifteen year old who’d been forbidden to surf for porn.  “Just *great*.”  A loud sigh.  
  
What a drama queen.  
  
The door to the restaurant swung open and in stepped Emmet, in all his expressionless glory.  As the low light bounced off his perfect muscles, I realized suddenly that I had never seen an off duty MX outside of the charging stations.  He was still wearing his black military issue pants and boots, but the jacket that proclaimed his status as a police officer was gone, and his helmet had been removed to reveal the sensible blonde crew cut beneath.  Without thinking, my eyes zoomed in on his six—no *eight*—pack, which was prominently displayed beneath his extremely tight undershirt.  
  
You had to admit, this particular MX’s design was very aesthetically pleasing, even if it did sort of look like an oversized sixteen year old without the helmet to help hide its baby face.  
  
“Wow, someone’s obviously been choking down the muscle enhancers,” John said casually, making me raise an eyebrow in his direction.  “Lucky for that kid, we’re off duty.”  
  
Was he kidding me?  He had to be kidding me.  Surely John realized “that kid” who’d just walked through the door was an MX-43.  He had to.  
  
“I mean, I was pretty buff at his age, but that’s just ridiculous.  You just don’t get arms like that when you’re still growing pubes unless you’ve got some magic working behind the scenes.”  
  
Or maybe not.  
  
Okay, okay, I understood that the inability to scan and assess traits sometimes made facial recognition a challenge for humans, but was a missing helmet and a white t-shirt really all it took to confound John’s senses?  God help any grandma that ever needed his help pulling her kitty out of a tree.  He’d probably end up giving her a maintenance drone.  
  
“Detective Kennex.”    
  
John physically jumped in his seat as Emmet’s monotone voice boomed across the room.  Obviously someone had his projectors on.    
  
The MX began to stride our way, feet clunking heavily as he basically marched across the tile floor.  Of course, marching was probably all he was programmed to do.  He came to a sharp halt exactly 2.5 feet away from the table’s edge and squared his shoulders, his expressionless face gazing down at us.  “Detective Paul said to inform you that he is parking the car, sir.”  
  
I hid an amused grin as Emmet went into full attention mode, standing up straight and squaring off like he was guarding our little table from an alien invasion.  Honestly, it wasn’t really funny—if I’d been developed a few years later, that might have been me—but here, outside of uniform, Emmet’s complete obliviousness to all normal human conventions just made him seem, well, almost childlike.  
  
“Wait a second… You’re the MX!”  
  
Looked like John’s ‘a-hah!’ moment had finally arrived.  Talk about awkward.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Emmet replied, apparently taking my partner’s statement of the obvious as a question.  “I am a class MX-43 android, Standard Issue.”  
  
“Of course you are,” John muttered, looking a little embarrassed.  Which he should be.  “You, uh, just look different without the… you know…”  He gestured vaguely at his face, I guess to indicate the MX’s lack of helmet.    
  
“Seriously, John?” I said, not bothering to try and hide my disbelief.  “You didn’t recognize it because it isn’t wearing a *helmet*?”  
  
John gave a shrug, looking like he wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or embarrassed.  “What?” he said defensively.  “It’s not like I spend my days staring into their haunting blue eyes or whatever.  They’re all the same, anyway.”  
  
“So you’re saying that during all the time you’ve worked with the MX’s, you’ve never looked at them long enough to recognize one outside of uniform?”    
  
Seriously, this was just unbelievable.  My processors could barely, well, process it.  
  
“Oh come on,” John said, obviously on the defensive now.  “You have to admit they’re pretty invisible.  They just *stand there* all day, in total silence.  They won’t even look at you if you squirt mustard in their face.”  
  
“I do not want to know how you know that,” I murmured.  
  
“Hell, they might as well not be there at all.”  
  
I zoomed in on his face, my neural pathways lighting up in anger.  My cheek was probably blazing.  “That’s a pretty horrible thing to say, John,” I said in a cool voice.  “They may not have feelings, but they’re still thinking beings.  They risk themselves every day to protect you—“  
  
“No MX protects me,” John cut in, his vital signs rising rapidly and his entire body tensing up.  “I protect myself.”  
  
Emmet looked back and forth between us like he wasn’t quite sure what was going on.  Which he most likely wasn’t.  The poor thing was a big dummy, at least when it came to people.  
  
I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest, pursing my lips tightly as I stared at my partner.  “Fine John,” I said finally.  “If that’s how you feel.  When winter comes and it’s time to pull out my sweaters, I’ll be sure to wear a name tag so you don’t get me mixed up with some random bot on the street.”  
  
“I fervently doubt that Detective Kennex will mix you up with another bot come winter time, Dorian.” Emmet broke in, looking almost pleased to have something to say.  “Your light mocha epidermis and ultramarine eyes are an unusual combination unlikely to be replicated outside of the DRN patterning.  It is much more unique than the MX-43 Euro’s Aryan features.”  
  
Apparently the concept of sarcasm was not a part of the MX’s programming.  
  
John’s vitals were lowering, and a slightly guilty look was coming over his face.  “Dorian, that wasn’t what I meant…”  
  
“Sure, John,” I said stiffly, turning my gaze away.  “Of course it wasn’t what you meant.  It never is.”  
  
There was a moment of awkward silence—well, awkward for John and I, though the MX seemed perfectly content—that was thankfully broken when Richard strode up to the table, wearing what could only be described as a “shit eating grin.”  
  
“Kennex.  Dorian.  How’s it hanging?”  He slapped a hand down on Emmet’s shoulder, causing the bot to look at him strangely.  
  
“A hell of a lot better than it’s hanging for your partner,” John replied dryly, and I shot him a look.  
  
“We’re doing very well, Detective Paul,” I said, letting my manner protocols take over as I shuffled my frustration at John to the bottom of my databank, where it could live out its days with the thousands of other snubs he’d made at me.  “Please, sit down.  You too, MX.  Richard, would you like a beer?”  I waved a hand at catch Li's attention, holding up one finger.  
  
“Sure, thanks,” Richard replied, settling into the chair across from me.  Emmet sat down beside him, perching on the very edge of his seat.  The bot’s back was as straight as it had been while he was standing, his chin perpendicular to the table, his blue eyes focused straight ahead.  A perfect image of the quintessential MX-43.  Except…  
  
I frowned as my sensors zoomed in on the synthetic’s face.  There it was again—a twitch.  Just like I’d seen in the office.  So small it was barely noticeable, but most definitely there, right above the lip.    
  
 _{command: scan, target: MX-43 973 (colloquially catalogued as: “Emmet”), area: full body_  
 _results: pulse+20, heart+10_  
 _mode: survival_  
 _run_program: EmpathicUnderstanding_  
 _conclusion: (“Emmet is afraid/aroused/alert/distressed.”)}_  
  
I quickly shut down the formal scan, hoping Emmet’s sensors hadn’t caught my intrusion.  Not that an MX would be bothered by it, but that was no excuse to be impolite.    
  
Strange, very strange.  What in the world could have put Emmet into survival mode?  Noodles?  Hanging lanterns made of paper? Chopsticks?  It looked like John was right—this was going to be an easy win.  If just this was enough to put him on edge, there was no way the MX could manage to behave like a real person for an entire evening.  
  
Still, it didn’t sit right with me.    
  
“Emmet, are you okay?  You seem sort of tense.”  
  
The MX started, its piercing blue eyes swinging toward me, its face as utterly expressionless as always.  “Affirmative, DRN, all MX-43 systems are in order.  I am not programmed for tension.”  A short pause.  “And as a reminder: My identification tag is not ‘Emmet.’  I am currently known as 973.”  He paused again then, in a slightly lowered voice, added, “We have had this discussion, DRN.”  
  
Right.  Of course, we had.  Over and over and over again.  Because heaven forbid a bot try and live some semblance of a normal life, with neighbors who had names instead of numbers.  Man, was I glad I wasn’t roomies with this guy anymore.  At least Rudy let me call him by a *name,* even if just looking at his sheets made me want to scan for venereal diseases.  
  
“You’ve had this discussion?” John said, looking amused.  “What discussion is that?”  
  
I scowled, shooting him an annoyed look.  “Nothing.  It’s nothing.”  John hadn’t been interested in hearing how lousy the robot barracks had been when I was still living there, so there was no need to talk about it now.  
  
“We have had the discussion that my identification tag is not ‘Emmet,’ Detective Kennex,” Emmet said in what I would personally consider too helpful of a voice.  “My identification is, as of this body, MX-43 973.  However, the DRN has overridden protocols and established my identification as ‘Emmet’ in its database.  It is against regulation for an MX-43 to have what humans refer to as a ‘nickname.’”  
  
My eyes narrowed, zooming in on Emmet’s face.  The twitching was gone, but something about the way he was looking at me…    
  
“How did you know that humans would call it a nickname?” I questioned, admittedly a little suspicious.  “You weren’t programmed with that kind of information.”    
  
If I was a human, I might have thought I was imagining the slight widening of Emmet’s eyes.  But as an android, I was more than capable of measuring the 0.5 centimeter increase in size as his lids spread apart slightly.  Interesting.

  
“The information was passed on to me during a routine traffic stop.  The violator informed me that ‘Luna’ was her nickname, which was why her school identification did not correspond with her city identification.”  
  
“And you just what, carried that information over and applied it to yourself?” I asked, even more suspiciously, as I ran another formal scan of Emmet’s vitals.    
  
 _{command: scan, target: MX-43 973 (colloquially catalogued as: “Emmet”), area: full body_  
 _results: pulse+10, heart+5_  
 _mode: deception_  
 _run_program: EmpathicUnderstanding_  
 _conclusion: (“Emmet is lying.”)}_  
  
Well look at that.  Emmet was full of crap.  
  
“Yes?” Emmet replied, glancing over at Richard as if hoping the man might provide him with a better answer.  
  
“Man, this is priceless,” John said with a laugh, shaking his head.  “Paul, your wittle MX doesn’t like his nickname.  Awww, poor wittle Emmet.”  
  
“Shut up, Kennex,” Richard retorted, jaw clenching and brow tightening up.  “If he doesn’t want to be called that, don’t call him that.”  
  
“But wittle Emmet—“  
  
“John, he’s right,” I cut in abruptly, narrowing my eyes at my partner.  “We should call him what he wants to be called.”  
  
John snorted.  “I think it will survive being called Emmet.”  
  
I let out a sigh, shaking my head.  “You are being very immature, John.”  Not an unusual state for my partner.  
  
“Hey, you’re the one who came up with the name.”  John paused, rubbing at his chin with his fingers.  “Is he the only one you named?”  
  
“No,” I admitted, silently wishing an early death on the person who had programmed me to feel embarrassment.  “But then it’s not really any of your business, is it, John?”  
  
Apparently John wasn’t listening--or just didn't care--because he said, “Hey Emmet, what does he call Detective Stahl’s?”

"I do not understand the question."  
  
I let out a sigh, picking up a paper napkin and shredding it for no reason.  “Unbelievable.”  
  
John smirked.  “What does Dorian call Detective Stahl’s MX?”  
  
“Oh."  A pause.  "According to the shared databanks,” Emmet said in a toneless voice, “the DRN refers to Detective Stahl’s MX as ‘Emily.'  And at this juncture, this MX-43 would request that you please refrain from referring to it as ‘Emmet.’  Such a name is against regulations.”  
  
“Emily?” John said with a grin, ignoring the rest of Emmet’s comment.  “You named Stahl’s bot ‘Emily’?”  
  
“I was running out of names that started with ‘Em,’ okay?” I said sourly, glaring across the table at Emmet.  “Thanks a lot, man.”  
  
“I am not a man,” he replied in his oh-so helpful voice.  Damn MX's.  So freaking literal.  Sometimes I just wanted to wring those things necks.  Too bad they were 45.6% stronger than me.  And at least four inches taller.  “I am an android.”  
  
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” John said, rolling his eyes.  “You’re quite the brain child, aren’t you?”  
  
“Negative,” Emmet replied, looking pleased that there was yet another question he could answer.  “Technically, Detective Stahl would be the ‘brain child,’ considering that she is genetically enhanced in every way.  Though the poorly rendered flower tattoo on her left buttock would suggest her decision making skills are somewhat stymied.”  Emmet sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, obviously rather proud of himself for this logical deduction.  
  
If John kept clenching his  jaw like that, it was going to need a repair shop.  “Excuse me?” he said through gritted teeth.  
  
“I said that though Detective Stahl is genetically enhanced in every way, the poorly rendered flower tattoo on her—“  
  
“I *heard* what you said,” John snapped.  “What I want to know is how the *hell* you know what Valerie does or doesn’t have on her… on her…” he made a choked sound.  
  
Emmet’s head cocked to the side, seeming puzzled.  “On her buttock?  I was placed in her apartment last fall after the Squad received several direct threats to her life, amongst other prominent chromes in the city.”  He paused, the lights on his cheek whirring as his logic core processed the data.  “It seems you were still in a coma at the time, Detective Kennex.  I was a part of her guard.”  
  
John’s teeth were now clenched so hard that I actually ran a quick scan to make sure they weren’t about to shatter.  Richard, on the other hand, was smirking broadly, obviously pleased by this little turn of events.  
  
“And how, exactly,” John said in a dangerous voice, “does being a part of her guard translate to seeing the tattoo on her… on her…”  He grimaced.  
  
“Left buttock?” Emmet finished, making me wince at the look in John’s eyes.  “I was her shower guard, obviously.”  
  
Obviously.  
  
Richard was laughing flat out now, causing Emmet to look at him strangely, and John’s knuckles were clenched almost as hard as his teeth.    
  
“And you *looked* at her while she was showering?” John demanded, eyes a little wild.  
  
Emmet frowned.  “Of course I looked, Detective Kennex.  I wouldn’t be much of a guard if I looked away from the assets I was protecting, sir.”  
  
“The assets,” John murmured, eyes narrowed and hand creeping toward his belt.  “The *assets,* you say.”    
  
As amusing as this was, I really needed to end this before Emmet lost his head.  Again.  
  
“He’s an MX, John,” I said in a soothing voice.  “They have no sexual desires.  They don’t even have… you know.  A naked woman means nothing to him.”  
  
“Just for the record’s sake,” Richard said, an evil glint in his eyes, “what kind of flower *does* Detective Stahl have on her left buttock?”  
  
Emmet’s face began to whir.  “It is the now extinct flower ‘catesbai’ from the also extinct genus of ‘lilium,’  that was once found in the southern region of North America.  It was more commonly known as the ‘tiger lily.’  Its DNA was not preserved, and though you can find many genetic derivatives, scientists are incapable of reproducing the actual species of lilium catesbai.”  
  
“Aw, too bad,” Richard said, shaking his head in feigned remorse.  “And here I was thinking maybe you’d finally be able to win Val over with her favorite flower… But it seems that it’s extinct.  Not unlike your love life.”  
  
“I do not understand,” Emmet said, frowning as he glanced back and forth between the smirking Richard and the glowering John.  
  
“It’s a human custom for a man to bring flowers to a woman he is interested in creating a… personal partnership with,” I explained, heading off whatever sharp remark John was planning to make.    
  
“And Detective Kennex is interested in such a relationship with Detective Stahl?” Emmet said, almost looking as if he cared.  
  
“Nobody said that,” John replied through gritted teeth.  
  
Emmet gave a short nod, a look of understanding come over his features.  “That is why you spend an average of two hours and sixteen minutes a day staring at Detective Stahl.  This makes sense.”    
  
He paused, mouth quirking down, then nodded again as he leaned in close to John, like he was about to tell him a secret.  
  
“If you would like to know, Dorian’s favorite flower is listed in the databases as the chrysanthemum, preferably in lavender or yellow.  The chrysanthemum is not extinct and can easily be reproduced by any street corner florist.”  
  
I made a choked sound, and the salt shaker got the chance to fly as my partner’s fist swept it off the table.    
  
“What the hell?”  A bead of sweat was growing on John’s brow.  “Why would I want to know that?”  
  
Emmet frowned.  “Since you stare at Dorian for an average of four hours and nine minutes every day, it seemed logical that you are also interested in having a ‘personal partnership’ with him.  And considering that he, like you, is an inferior model of his type, logically, you have a much better chance at mating with the faulty DRN than you do with the genetically superior Detective Stahl.”  
  
Oh boy.  
  
“You know what, Emmet?” I said, trying to keep my cool as John practically convulsed in his chair.  “That is a very astute observation.  Thank you for that.  But John and I have no plans to,” I made a small sound. “To ‘mate.’  We are simply partners, like you and Detective Paul.”  
  
Emmet glanced over at Richard, then back at me.  “Acknowledged.  Forgive me.  I simply calculated that since your lower torso and genitalia is based upon the design of an Intimate Robot Companion, the chances of you having a physical relationship with your partner are increased by 236%.”  
  
“I.  Am.  Not.  Doing.  ANYTHING.  With.  Dorian.”  It was more of a growl than actual words, and Emmet’s gaze switched abruptly to John, who looked like he was about to erupt.  
  
My eyes narrowed as I focused in on Emmet’s mouth.  There it was again, that twitch.    
  
There was an uncomfortably long silence, then, finally, out of seemingly nowhere, Emmet said, “Would you like me to get you some coffee, Detective Paul?”  If I didn’t know better I might have thought he was trying to change the subject. 

“No thanks, MX," Richard replied, still looking amused.  "The waiter will get our order soon.”  
  
Emmet’s head began to slowly turn, probably scanning the perimeter for threats.  “I do not understand.”  
  
“You know the job you do for Paul every single day?  Waiting on him hand and foot?  Here somebody else gets to do it,” John said coldly, sneering at the annoyed look that appeared on Richard’s face.  “Only they get paid for it.”  
  
“John,” I muttered, giving his shin a soft kick.  “Be nice.”  
  
“I still do not understand,” Emmet said, head cocking to the side.  
  
“Here,” I said, holding out a hand.  “May I?”  
  
Emmet glanced over at Richard, obviously seeking his partner’s permission, then turned back to me, lips tightening as he gave a sharp nod.  
  
I reached out, settling my finger tips on the side of his head, then smiled as a soft prickle of electricity danced across my his temple, sealing our connection.  The side of Emmet’s face began to flash red as I started to transfer basic restaurant etiquette into his database.  
  
Images of waiters and dinner plates and cocktails and tips flashed across my vision like a translucent film, there, but not there.  Chinese noodles and Italian pasta and German sausage and American barbecue—  
  
There was a sudden jolt as the feed swung back toward me without warning, the image of smoked ribs melting into a vision of Richard seated at a picnic table, staring down at a small pile of children’s toys topped with bright bows, his brown eyes dull and unseeing.   
  
 _“They aren’t coming, are they?”_  
  
 _It has been hours and MainLogic says, ‘No, they are not coming.  Not today.  Most likely not ever again.  Just like she said.’  But I do not speak it.  Instead I stand next to the charcoal grill and carefully—scientifically—turn the hamburger patties.  Richard—no, *Superior*—looks so morose, as if nothing in the world could possibly make him smile.  I want to make him smile, I really do.  It is an urgent need, but one that I cannot fulfill.  I don’t even know what smiles feel like, so how can I put one on Superior?  So I simply stand my ground, I turn the patties, and I watch the sadness on his face… Except it’s not me…  Those aren’t my hands flipping burgers.  They are someone else’s, someone very different from me.  Someone who has never smiled._  
  
 _Emmet.  This is Emmet’s memory._  
  
I jerked my hand away, a rush of  guilt flooding my synapses.  I hadn’t meant to invade his personal memory bank, just the general knowledge database.  Apparently the MX’s didn’t keep their public and private thoughts as clearly separated as I did.  Of course, I hadn’t really expected an MX to *have* any private thoughts, so perhaps I hadn’t been as careful as I should have been.  
  
Emmet didn’t seemed fazed by it, though—not that he *ever* seemed fazed.  Truthfully, I wasn’t even sure if the MX’s were capable of more complex facial expressions than the bland, lifeless one they wore most of the time.  Sure, I had seen some frowns, and even a few looks of surprise.  But I had most certainly never seen a smile.  
  
What a sad existence.  
  
I was distracted from my philosophical ramblings by an almost triumphant sound from the MX.  
  
“Oh, I understand now,” Emmet said, in what for him was a cheery voice.  “The workers in this establishment will service the inhabitants of these tables by granting them oral pleasure.”  
  
John made a sound like a dying possum and Richard sunk down in his chair, cheeks going very, *very* red.  Even I had to cover my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing out loud.  
  
Emmet glanced around, then his blue eyes zoomed in on me, a strange look on his face.  “You are laughing at me.  Again.”  
  
I blinked, laughter quickly dissipating at his colder than normal stare.  “No… I mean, well, yes, but…”  
  
“I simply gave an accurate summary of the workings of this establishment.  Why has this triggered your laughter?” Emmet demanded, temple beginning to flash like a red lightning storm.  This was not good.  
  
“Oh my God,” John said, tears actually running down his face.  He wiped at them with the back of his hand.  “You know what, I take it back.  I don’t hate MX’s—these things are a laugh a minute.”  
  
“John, be nice,” I muttered as my visual sensors began to flash an alert.  “He doesn’t know what it means.  And you’re upsetting him.”  
  
“Oh no,” John said, feigning terror.  “God forbid I upset an MX!  He might just glare me to death.”  
  
“You know what, that’s enough,” Richard said in a harsh voice.  “Sitting here with you while you make fun of my partner was *not* part of the deal.”  He stood.  “Come on, MX, let’s go.”  
  
“Hey, you can’t just walk out on our bet,” John said, standing abruptly and glaring down at Richard, their height difference suddenly *very* obvious.  “We had a deal.  You leave now, you lose.”  
  
“Go to hell,” Richard snapped back, looking pissed.  “You treat my partner like shit, you forfeit.  MX, move out.”  
  
“Wait, a second,” John said in an angry voice, reaching out to grab Richard by the shirt.  “That’s not how—SHIT!”  
  
It happened in a millisecond, too fast for even me to see.  One moment John was standing beside me, the next he was up against the wall, held in place by a deceptively calm looking android.  
  
I didn’t even bother to try and force Emmet away—the MX’s were way too strong—but I did make a point to grab the arm wrapped around John’s throat with both of my hands, tugging uselessly on that titanium forcep.  
  
“Emmet, you need to calm down,” I said, trying to hide my fear.  I had never seen an MX act like this, ever.  Sure, I had noticed that Emmet could be a little off compared to the other MX’s, but he was also one of the oldest models still in active duty.  Two years of police experience would change any being capable of learning, at least a little.  Attacking an officer, however, was way out of the scope of any action that could be attributed to the MX’s programming.  This action, right here and now, was something totally different.  A virus, maybe?  I wasn’t sure, but I *was* sure that we needed to get him off of John in the next one minute, twelve seconds, or I was going to be one very partnerless android.  
  
“It’s okay, Emmet,” I said in as soothing a voice as I could manage.  “I mean, *MX.*  He wasn’t really going to hurt Detective Paul.  Just let him go, okay?”  
  
“Let him go?” Emmet said, the mad flashing on his cheek betraying his calm tone.  “You mean in the same manner that he let me go at 8:12 pm on August 27th, 2046 when he pushed me in front of an on-coming semi-truck for reminding him about his unpaid parking violations?  Or at 7:25 am on October 14th 2046 when he shot both of my legs off for questioning whether or not a judge had issued a warrant approving the raid?  Or at 3:54 pm on December 28th 2046 when he knocked me off a bridge for stating that we did not have enough evidence to arrest the suspect he had in custody?  Or at 11:46 pm on January 2nd 2047 when I was ordered to throw my body onto a bomb so that he would not have to waste his forceshield?  Or perhaps just three weeks ago when, only a few months out of his coma, he returned to his usual behavior and removed my head for making a statistical observation?  Is this the manner in which I should, as you state, ‘let him go’?”  
  
The utter calmness of the words only made them that much more disturbing.  
  
Without thinking I released Emmet’s arm and grabbed the back of his neck.  This time the connection was no soft tickle—the shock was almost enough to knock me off my feet, but I held on.  If I could just override—  
  
The world went black, then red, then…

  
  
_Nineteen unpaid parking violations is unacceptable.  If Superior Kennex gets one more, it could cost him his badge.  Why is he being so illogical?  Why does he not—_   
  
_A hard shove, the blast of a horn, and a single second that seems to last forever as bright headlamps glare me down, then… SLAM._   
  
_Nothing._   
  
_…_   
  
_If Superior Kennex does not have a warrant, then this entire procedure will be for naught.  We will be unable to hold the suspects—_   
  
_Two loud bangs and I fall to the concrete.  I am unable to move anything below my upper torso and, a moment later, I realize my legs are completely gone._   
  
_“You’re in or you’re out, bot,” Kennex says coldly as he grabs the gun from my holster and stuffs it in his waistband.  “Let’s move!”  The raid goes into action, and a strange sense settles over me.  I do not understand it, though it is similar in some ways to surprise.  But stronger.  Much, much stronger.  There is nothing I can do.  My systems have shut down now, so I cannot move at all.  All I can do is think…_   
  
_…_   
  
_The politician in the back of Superior Kennex’s cruiser is furious--I do not need my scanners to tell me this.  He is screaming that we cannot do this, and he is correct.  We have no reason to arrest this man, other than Kennex’s instincts.  While I do agree that, statistically, this is most likely our culprit, arresting him is a waste of time, and may even jeopardize what evidence we do have.  How can Kennex not see that—_   
  
_The blow comes from nowhere—how could it have evaded my peripheral sensors?—and I find myself falling, falling, falling, for what has to be forever.  I open my mouth and, for the first time in my existence, I wish that I could scream.  For the first time, I understand why the humans scream.  I will impact in three, two, one—_   
  
_BAM._   
  
_…_   
  
_“We may need the forceshield later,” Superior Kennex says in a cold voice._   
  
_“Sir, we have backup—“_   
  
_“You, on it, now!”_   
  
_A direct order.  MainLogic takes over and I throw myself onto the live bomb, wrapping my body around it, knowing that this is the end—_   
  
_The world erupts.  And so do I._   
  
_…_   
  
_Kennex is insulting my Superior again.  Having no emotions does not mean that you cannot tire of something.  And I am tired of Kennex.  How peaceful life was while he was in his coma, but now he is back, with that ridiculous antique of a synthetic.  Doesn’t he realize how much more efficient the MX-43 are?  I should really remind him._   
  
_I open my mouth, the statistics pour out and then—_   
  
_BANG._   
  
_…_   
  
_Destroyed, again and again and again.  Struggling, every time, to upload as much of myself as I can to the computer before systems shut down.  Knowing that I can never upload it all, that there will always be pieces of myself missing.  All thanks to him._   
  
_Thanks to Kennex._

  
  
A violent shock, then the connection cut off.  
  
“MX, stand down!” Rochard’s voice was loud, commanding.  My internal clock said that only a few seconds had passed since I connected with Emmet, but it seemed like forever.  All those memories, wrought with fervent emotions that the other android couldn’t make sense of, not even when he tried.  But I could.  I knew those feelings.  And it made me feel sick.  
  
Apparently my actions had been entirely unnecessary, and an order from his Superior was all Emmet needed, because at Richard’s words he immediately released John, who collapsed against the wall, coughing and rubbing at his throat.  
  
Emmet had backed away against the opposite wall, and as expressionless as his face seemed, I had been in that head, and I knew what he was thinking.  No, what he was *feeling.*  I had felt the terror and now I could see the fear written all over him: in his tightly clenched jaw, in his slightly twitching lip, in the way his hands seemed glued in position at his sides...  But when our eyes met, it wasn’t fear I saw, but confusion.  Total, utter confusion.  
  
Emmet wasn’t programmed to know fear, or hate, or want, or love.  Even when he felt those things, he had no idea what they were.  He wasn’t programmed to know.  They hadn’t *wanted* him to know.  
  
Sick bastards.  
  
I dropped down on my knees next to my partner.  “Hey John, are you okay, man?” I said, running my BioMed scanners up and down his neck.  No collapsed pipes, no fractures, no punctures, just surface bruising.  He was going to be fine.  
  
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely, grimacing as he continued to knead the area Emmet had grabbed.  “I’m fine.  Toaster’s got a pretty good clutch, though.”  
  
I didn’t reply.  I knew very well that if he had truly wanted to, Emmet could have crushed John’s entire skull like an egg, but somehow I didn’t think my partner would find that information comforting.    
  
“Here, give me a hand,” John said, and I obeyed silently, standing and helping pull him to his feet.  
  
“Calibration… failed,” came a sultry, feminine voice.  
  
“Dammit,” John muttered, smacking angrily at his synthetic leg.  “Thanks a lot, toaster.  First you go for my throat, now you take my leg, too.”  
  
I glanced over at Emmet, who was still standing silently against the wall, eyes focused on nothing, face twitching badly.  Badly enough, it seemed, that even John noticed it.  
  
“Hey… what’s wrong with it’s face?”  
  
I bit my lip, glancing back and forth between my partner and the MX, unsure what I should say.  The last thing I wanted to do was tell my best friend and partner that what he’d thought were a few harmless actions had utterly terrorized a thinking being for almost as long as it had existed.  But I had to say something, otherwise they’d assume he’d been hacked and he’d be decommissioned, or worse.  
  
“It’s afraid, John,” I said in a quiet voice, not that whispering would really keep Emmet from hearing me.  “It’s afraid you’re going to shoot it again.”  
  
John’s brow wrinkled up in confusion.  “What?”  
  
“It’s afraid you’re going to shoot it again.  That’s why its face is twitching.  It’s afraid of you.”  I let out an irritated sigh as John just stared at me.  “Don’t you get it?  You’ve killed it, over and over again, and that’s been imprinted on it somehow.  As much as it is capable of fear, it fears you.  It’s afraid you’re going to shoot it again!”  
  
“No.  I am not afraid Detective Kennex is going to shoot me again,” Emmet said suddenly, making everyone’s eyes swing toward him..  His lip was still twitching.  It made him look like a crazy person.  “I could wake up from a shooting.  I have assaulted a superior officer.  I have committed a Level 1 Offense.  You must deliver me to the labs to be destroyed.  I have committed a Level 1 Offense.  You must deliver me to the labs to be destroyed.  I have committed a Level 1 Offense.  You must deliver me to the labs to be destroyed.  I have committed a Level 1 Offense.  You must deliver me to the—“  
  
“MX, shut up!” Richard practically shouted, grabbing the bot’s arm and shaking it.  “You sound like a broken record!  Stop talking like that!  Hell, stop talking at all!”  
  
Emmet fell silent, eyes falling to the floor.  “Yes, sir,” he said quietly, then he paused.  “Just one more thing…”  
  
Richard frowned so deeply that a dimple appeared in his chin.  His vital signs were racing, his pupils dilated.  Detective Paul was afraid.  “What, MX?”  
  
Those big blue eyes raised up.  “I am very sorry I lost you the bet.”  



End file.
